


Last Words

by lovesrogue36



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Episode Related, F/F, Fights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-31
Updated: 2011-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-28 13:30:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/308354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovesrogue36/pseuds/lovesrogue36
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An angst-ridden take on the Singing Towers of Darillium and a case study on how a marriage comes to a close.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Words

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who nor am I associated with Steven Moffat, Russell Davies, Matt Smith or Alex Kingston.

The knock on the door might have startled her more if his parking job weren’t so noisy. River clenched her jaw, tossing a stack of student papers to the carpet so they scattered satisfyingly. Later she would be annoyed but her annoyance with _him_ always seemed to eclipse all else.

Popping up from the couch, she marched to the door and yanked it open, glasses perched on the end of her nose and a fist on her hip. “ _What_ do… you…” Trailing off, River looked him over slowly, startled. “Who died?” she snapped at the sight of a new suit, a new haircut.

He seemed to flinch at that and she felt a twinge of regret that was almost decent of her. Holding up a stack of papers much more ominous than the one she had already sent flying, he let his shoulders sag slightly. “I figured you would want these about now.”

River pulled her glasses off gently, pressing her lips together. “Thank you,” she murmured, reaching out a hand for the stack only to have him pull it away at the last second. It reminded her of that ancient cartoon her father had always loved, with the cruel little girl and the football.

“I have a condition.”

“No. _No._ We both already met any and all demands. No _more_.” Her icy demeanor threatened to sneak back but the steel in his eyes held her at bay.

“Look, I know, all right? But this is our final case of spoilers. If you don’t do this one last thing for me, you’ll be forcing me to break a promise I made to _you_. Do you actually _want_ another paradox?”

“Of course not but-”

He held up a hand, effectively cutting her short in that way that had begun to grate on her nerves so many years ago. “I honestly don’t care. I promised you once, a very, very long time ago and… not so far off now for you, that I wouldn’t rewrite a second of our time together and although I certainly never thought that time would come to _this_ , I still made a promise.”

“Because you’re so good at keeping those,” River bit back harshly, crossing her arms over her chest in defiance. They both knew she would give in, if not for his sake, for the sake of the oh-so-precious spoilers.

He stared her down until she did just that, throwing her hands up. “Fine. _Fine._ What am I dressing for?”

Spinning on her heel and stomping towards the bedroom, she nearly tripped when he answered with a simple, “A date.”

“A _what?_ ” River turned in honest shock, her eyes shot wide.

“River, this date has to happen.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, teeth grinding. “Someday, _soon_ , you’ll consider it… my final gift to you.” If she hadn’t known better, she’d have thought those were tears shining in his eyes and a lump in his throat. “Just _go_ get _dressed_.”

Although very recently she would have found his tone bossy and bitter, she only turned silently to do as he said. There was something… something tense about him that made her remember the days when he hadn’t known her and _she_ had kept that rigid, uncomfortable posture. Slipping into a long black dress with a low neckline and a lacy choker, she tucked a small revolver in her purse (just in case) and emerged from the bedroom.

He stood at her desk, his back to her as he sort-of-discreetly pocketed the photograph there of her and her mother. It had been years since they lost Amy, even longer since Rory, but he still seemed to hold a piece of his heart just for the feisty redhead. Idly, she wondered if it might have been the final straw before it crossed her mind that he was wanted on many, many worlds but stealing mementos was rather beneath him.

River cleared her throat, arms crossed. “Well? Are we going or aren’t we?”

“Yes, yes, of course. Come on, TARDIS is outside,” he murmured, tucking the stack of papers under his arm. She could only imagine what she might have to endure before he would hand them over. (Some part of her knew that was harsh and wanted to know when she became such an embittered woman but there were far too many raw wounds between them still for her to feel all that bad about it.)

He hustled her out to the blue box that had often been the only thing holding them together for a rather short, silent flight, the TARDIS humming under her touch. When they stepped out at the Singing Towers of Darillium, she wished he had been so romantic when things were good.

It was a quiet date, although under the circumstances it was hardly shocking. They ate and even danced and for a brief moment the thought crossed her mind that maybe things weren’t so _bad_ after all, but when she felt his tears against her cheek, his fingers in her hair, she knew instantly how wrong she was.

A nearly untouched slice of chocolate cake lay between them on the table as he pulled the stack of papers from seemingly nowhere as he was so apt to do. Sadness must have touched her eyes at the sight because he pressed his lips together, clicking the top of a pen. “Don’t tell me you don’t want me to sign them now.”

She shook her head slowly, glancing down at twisted hands in her lap. “No. Go on. Let’s get it over with.”

“This almost seems unnecessary,” he murmured. “The next time you meet me, I won’t be me. Not any me you know anyhow.” He flipped through the pages, jotting down a messy Gallifreyan signature on several. “Maybe that’s why you forgive me.”

He slid the stack across the table to her. “It was rather rude of you to serve me with divorce papers on our anniversary, you know.”

Ignoring him, she slid her hands over the pages that changed her life so completely. (Or possibly not at all.) “I wonder if this makes me Melody Pond again,” she pondered aloud, voice too soft for the occasion.

“That’s up to you now,” he murmured back, standing and pressing a kiss into her hair one last time before turning to go.

That should have been the end of it, the sanctity of their final romance intact. But it just wasn’t in her nature and even as she stood, the words flying out of her mouth, she regretted it. “I never wanted to hate you.”

Hands in his pockets, he had the audacity to chuckle, shoulders shaking slightly. “Oh, River. You were born to hate me.” Glancing back at her, the twinkling lights reflected in his eyes, he smirked humorlessly. “I should have known all those years ago, the first time I met you even, that lust and hate weren’t a basis for a good marriage.”

Some fine, invisible cord holding onto her resolve snapped and her hand came up to slap him, _hard,_ only to have him easily catch her wrist in one fluid motion. “We’re a bit old for the same routines, aren’t we?” he asked, voice dry.

Staring deep, deep into his eyes, the way she had on their wedding day all those years ago, the day they had just signed away like it was nothing, she searched for what tiny bit of information he was hiding so furiously. “What do you know?” she demanded slowly, quivering with anger and determination.

He leaned in, lips a breath away from hers, whispering the dreaded, “Spoilers.” Pulling back just enough to meet her eyes, he clenched his jaw. “Stings, doesn’t it? Being left out in the dark?”

“Been there. Done that. You’re going to a funeral. You only ever wear those shoes when you’re going to a funeral.” He held her gaze, not giving an inch until she added, “Thought you’d screw your ex-wife one last time before you gave the eulogy?”

Wrenching away from her, he straightened his bow tie and spun on his heel, ready to leave her standing there in the middle of a crowded restaurant, people staring, his last words to her cruel and sad. “Because it’s my funeral, isn’t it? This isn’t your final gift to me because we’re getting _divorced_ ; it’s because I’m about to _die_. This isn’t you keeping a _promise_ ; it’s you bending the rules, once again, playing with time and people’s hearts just so you can get a trivial goodbye!

“Do you know what you’ve done here tonight? What you’ve done every night you spent pretending you hadn’t ruined my entire life?” It was most certainly a rhetorical question and he merely gripped the door frame tighter. “You did what Kovarian and, and Colonel _Runaway_ never could. You made me hate you.” Her voice was so calm and steady at the end that he looked about as stunned as if she really had slapped him.

Several long seconds of recovery later, he stalked towards her, hands gripping her shoulders as soon as he was near enough. “Do you know what the difference between us is, River? _I_ never would have _said_ it.” Looking up, he threw his arms in the air. “What kind of restaurant is this? We should have been thrown out ages ago!” he yelled at the nearest waitstaff irritably before marching purposefully to the door.

It was several hours later before she found her wandering way back to the TARDIS, shocked it was still there. He was not however, as evidenced by the note taped to the door which read:

Caught a ride with a friend; couldn’t just leave you here, after all  
Assuming you can get yourself home, just be sure and watch the  
recording first  
Love, (rather vigorously scratched out)  
Me

River rubbed her thumb across the simple signature and stepped inside, swallowing hard as she pressed play on the wobbly screen. His picture popped up and he squinted at her from a few hours earlier. “Hello, there,” he said, watching her as intently as if he were standing right in front of her. “I have another condition and though I don’t have any leverage and you in fact have my ship… I rather hope you’ll do me this one last favor.”

He paused, seeming to debate whether he ought to go through with whatever he was about to spoil her on. “You’re going to take a job. In fact, you’ve probably already taken it. To, ah, a library. And it’s not going to seem like you need any help but I want you to call for me, anyways. I have to be there and I won’t be if you don’t do this. If it’s the last- Just do it, River, please.” The image blinked out and she stood there a long minute, bracing herself on the console as though she might fall down otherwise.

She started in surprise when he reappeared, fussing with what she recognized as the photo from her desk. “And by the way, since it’s probably the last time I’m going to get to make this argument, bow ties, fezzes and Stetsons are all very, very cool.” He disappeared and she pressed a hand over her soft laugh, tears just stinging the corners of her eyes.

“And because those really, really cannot be my last words to my wife… ex-wife… whatever… No matter what you got me to say tonight,” he paused, swallowing over the lump in his throat. “No matter what I _said_ tonight, I have always, do and will always love you, River Song. Never forget that. And when you meet the old me, the younger me, I want you to remember us the way we were, back when things were oh so good.”

A few months later, standing in the Library with her wedding ring on a chain around her neck and a young Doctor without a drop of recognition in his eyes before her, she braced herself for the end and pasted on a smile. Might as well make his beginning better than hers had been. “Hello, sweetie.”


End file.
